I'm taking Natalie for a walk by the ocean today while her mother and father wait for the test results at the hospital. It's a twenty-minute drive, but my cell phone get service out here and we can get back there quickly when we need to.
"How fast should I run?" Natalie asks, kicking off her sandals and digging her small toes into the sand.
"As fast as you can, girl!"
I'm showing her the "Quick Shot" setting on my digital camera, which lets me take as many pictures as I want, one right after another, as long as I hold down the shutter release button. "Like boom, boom, boom," I explained to Natalie.
She's fifty feet down the beach, pointing her finger at a gull saying, "Boom, boom, boom." She loves having her photo taken. A diva in the making.
"I'll say go!" I call to her and put my eye to the viewfinder--an old habit from the pre-digital age. I zoom in on her face. She's biting down on her bottom lip, showing the whole wide gap between her front teeth, and leaning forward like a marathon runner at the starting line. Her eyes are focused intensely on me and I wish she could stay looking at me like this forever.
But soon we will return to the hospital. I will fold my arms around her and the doctor will open his clipboard and clear his throat, and Natalie's eyes will focus intensely on him.
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